To Love You More
by Southen-Fried-Penguin
Summary: Now that John and Mary are engaged, Sherlock is having an extremely hard time accepting it. He wanted John all to himself! But far be it for Sherlock Holmes to let him go without a fight!
1. The Great Debate

When your best friend is getting married, it's customary for everyone to shower that person with best wishes for the future. At least, that's what social tradition dictates.

Then again, when does Sherlock Holmes do anything that is remotely socially acceptable?

After the announcement that Mary accepted John's proposal, the couple had been nearly swallowed with congratulatory cards, calls, and text messages. Frankly it was getting annoying. How was he supposed to think on a case when John was sitting on the other side of the room, constantly replying to every ding that came through on his mobile? And if THAT wasn't bad enough, after every so many texts that John received, Mary would call to ask him about inviting so-and-so to the wedding. John seemed to happily agree with every request that Mary made.

Still laying on the couch with his fingers famously steepled under his chin, he slightly opened an eye to glance at John, who was once again thoroughly engrossed in another text message. God, when did John become so ordinary?

Sherlock shook that thought out of his head, chastising himself because he knew better. John was anything but ordinary. John was strong, courageous, with a high moral ground that he seemed to use to keep Sherlock in check when he deemed it necessary. He never thought twice about following Sherlock wherever he needed him to go, day or night. Although now that he was to be married, and no doubt start a family, Sherlock sensed that his time with John will become more restricted.

And that single thought is what has Sherlock sulking on the couch.

It's not that he doesn't want John to be happy. He deserved it more than anyone else that Sherlock knew. But wasn't he happy with the way things were? Aloof flatmate that he was, he knew John had become accustomed to (and rather liked) taking care of him: cooking, shopping, cleaning the flat. Sherlock appreciated that more than he could convey to John, so he never tried. He just assumed that John knew. And in return, he kept John busy with cases that would satisfy his need to feel his adrenaline pumping. It was a perfect symbiotic relationship, feeding off each other to get what each needed. So what was the problem?

The more he thought about it, the more his brow furrowed in confusion. Sherlock had given him everything Mary was offering and even a few things she most likely wouldn't. (He couldn't picture her leading him on a merry chase down the alleys of London after some criminal. Heaven forbid she break a nail, or some other such nonsense.) After weeks of pondering the situation, he kept coming to the same conclusion: the only difference between himself and Mary was Love.

Ok, even that was a stretch, if Sherlock chose to be honest with himself. He knew he loved John. He'd know there was something special about him that night they walked home after John had shot that cabbie to save his life. Ever since that night, John had kept finding ways to impress Sherlock (which wasn't easy to do) and before he realized what had happened, he had fallen madly in love with his ex-soldier. He had never come right out and admit it to him, however. It seemed pointless at first. He had felt that they had endless time together and that John would figure it out eventually.

Sherlock Holmes hates it when he's wrong.

Now he has a new dilemma: does he confess all and hope for the best, or does he plaster on that fake smile he mastered ages ago and let John slowly work himself out of his life? Although John has tried several times to reassure him that his marriage will in no way affect their work together, Sherlock knew that the balance of probability was not in his favor. Still, even the remote possibility of no longer seeing John on a daily basis sent his otherwise meticulous mind into an irrational state of panic. He finally made his mind up.

He would tell John everything. Now he just had to work out the best way of going about it.

He wanted to ask advice from Molly or Lestrade but he instinctually knew that they either wouldn't believe him or they would try to talk him out of it for John's sake. But what they failed to realize is that Sherlock knew John so much better than they did. He'd memorized the different angles that his sandy blonde hair stood in when he woke up in the morning and pattered downstairs for his coffee or tea. He knew that every time it stormed in London, John would sit in his chair with the paper and subconsciously rub the shoulder he had been shot in the entire time. He knew his favorite songs, movies, and shows on the telly. He knew that John absolutely (irrationally) hated his food touching each other on his plate. But those were the things that anyone could learn about John when living with him.

However, he also knew the different sighs that John made in his sleep, and was able to tell if the dream he was having was pleasant or not based on those little sounds that made Sherlock's toes curl. He can instantly recognize the signs of John's arousal by the pinkest flush that dusts his face whenever he sees someone he finds attractive. And on more than one occasion Sherlock had noticed that it wasn't just women that put him in that state of mind. This was a big relief with Sherlock discovered out that little tidbit. What he was planning to do was going to be awkward enough. At least he wasn't flying completely blind.

He decided that if he was going to do this, it would have to completely shock John (and possibly humiliate Mary, but hey that was just a bonus.) Sherlock had learned over the years that when someone is faced with a shocking revelation, the first few seconds of their reaction is the true display of their true self. Heaven knows that he can deduce what he needed to know from John in those seconds. Hell, he'd been studying him for over a year now. Just one second would be all Sherlock needed.

His musings were interrupted yet again by John's mobile going off. This time he actually turned his head to look at John.

"I'm sorry if my waiting for a case seems to be disturbing your now blossoming social life, John.", he lazily drawled.

John looked up startled. "I'm sorry. What?"

Sherlock huffed and swung himself up into a seated position. "If you have business that needs attending, please feel free to leave the flat and tend to it. Every time I ensconce myself in my Mind Palace, the damn thing goes off and it's like a constant doorbell. You know what I did to the last doorbell that irritated me. Unless you want your mobile to suffer the same fate, I highly suggest that you either put it on silent or take your business elsewhere!"

John actually had the GALL to look offended! "Fine Sherlock. Call me if you need me." He lifted himself out of his favorite chair, stalked down the stairs and slammed the door behind him as he left. Sherlock let out the breath he was holding at John's reaction.

Well, he's off to a marvelous start, isn't he?


	2. Preparing for Battle

John stomped off down Baker Street in a huff. What the hell was wrong with Sherlock? He's used to him being an arrogant bastard when he was mad or a sulking schoolboy when he was upset, but this was something totally different. He heaved a sigh and kept walking. Whatever it was, he knew that he had to figure it out before he ended up strangling him.

His mobile chimed again. Taking it from his pocket he glanced down and saw a text message from Mary.

What do you think of Lavender? -MM

The color or the flower? - JW

Both actually. – MM

It's alright, I suppose. – JW

Great. Lavender it is than - MM

John shook his head. Mary was going ahead full-steam with the wedding planning and she was definitely a force to be reckoned with. Truth be told, he knew that she was going to go ahead and plan it her way anyway, so why keep asking him all these questions? But he was wise enough not to say anything. Mike Stamford had reminded him that 'a happy wife means a happy life' and if that meant smiling and letting her get her way (in most things) then he was perfectly willing to do so. He was certainly used to Sherlock being the same way.

Sherlock. Stubborn git. But while it was on his mind, he texted Mary back.

Before I forget, which shop are we using for the tuxedos? I need to make sure where I'm dragging Sherlock for his fitting. – JW

After a long pause he received: What do you mean? – MM

Sherlock's fitting for his tux? He is my best man after all – JW

I thought you wanted to ask Mike Stamford – MM

No, YOU wanted me to ask Mike. I told you it was going to be Sherlock – JW

There wasn't an immediate reply, which meant only one of two things: either Mary dropped the subject completely (not likely) or she's furiously typing out a long tirade. His phone chimed 5 minutes later, proving it to be the latter.

John Hamish Watson! You better listen to me! I know that Sherlock is your partner and all that but I honestly cannot see why you want to invite the man! You of all people know what he's like. He'll probably show up late, if he bothers to show at all. And IF he does show up, do you really want him mingling with all our guests, deducing all their secrets and putting them on public display? Think about it. We're already having an open bar. Don't you think the guests will drink us completely broke after having to deal with that insufferable pratt? – MM

John was torn between laughing and roaring. He knew all too well the urge for a drink whenever Sherlock started in on something that he had wanted to keep to himself. But how dare she?! He hadn't said a damn thing about her wanting to invite people she hadn't seen in years (some since primary school) just so she could show off her 'Army Doctor'. In truth it used to make him preen just a bit when she said things like that. Now he thinks this wedding is becoming more of a show than anything. Regardless, she has no right telling him who he cannot invite to his own damn wedding! But, being reasonable John, he had to admit she had a point. Heaving another sigh, he turned around and headed back to Baker Street. He supposed it was better to have this conversation now rather than later. He squared his shoulders and walked with a purpose, like he would if he was marching into battle.

Perhaps he was.

…

Once John left, Sherlock flopped back on the couch in a huff. Why was John being a grumpy puss? He'd notice the difference between the two of them, only when Mary was involved somehow. Apparently she didn't like him at all. Sherlock couldn't care less. But her attitude was changing the way John was acting around him and THAT was something he couldn't stand for. The sooner he revealed all to John and got him away from that insufferable bitch, the sooner everything could go back the way it was before. Well, maybe not EXACTLY the way things were before. He doubted that they would ever be the same once he admitted his feelings for John. No matter. Sherlock had already made up his mind and it had to be done.

Grabbing his mobile off of the side table, he sent a quick text to Mycroft.

Need assistance. – SH

He sat back for a second then decided that he needed to clarify that statement. Knowing his brother, he could interpret that message to the point of completely surrounding his flat with a swat team and helicopters. He decided to clarify, and quickly.

It's about John. – SH

A moment later he heard the chime.

Ah, yes. Do give him my Congratulations. – MH

Sherlock read that and mentally shook his head. 'I shall do no such thing' he thought. But he wasn't going to tell his nosy big brother that. He did need his help after all.

I need something to give him. A congratulatory something-or-other. – SH

Sentiment getting the best of you, little brother? – MH

Sod off. Can you help me or not? – SH

What would you like? – MH

You know I don't pay attention to these sorts of things. – SH

Whenever you figure it out, then I shall see what I can do. – MH

Sherlock growled and threw his phone back on the side table. He should have expected Mycroft to be of no use to him. He didn't even know why he bothered in the first place.

But he knew he had to take his mind off of it for a while before it literally drove him insane. He stood up and headed to the kitchen, intending to put the kettle on. But he got halfway there before a familiar craving suddenly took hold of him and it stopped him in his tracks. He turned around and allowed his eyes to quickly dart around the room, taking inventory of all his usual hiding places. Damn. He could instantly tell by the slightest deviation of certain objects that John had once again found his stashes and had promptly disposed of all his cigarettes. He couldn't help the slightest curve of his mouth, grinning at another example of just how clever John really is. Sighing, he gave up that thought and resumed his trek into the kitchen. Once the kettle was on, he went to his laptop to see if there were any cases to catch his attention. At this point, he would even accept a 5 on his scale, just to temporarily get his mind off John. But there was nothing. Apparently the criminal class had gone on holiday away from London, and Sherlock was finding it damned inconvenient.

He was just about to close his laptop with a slam when something caught his attention. He wasn't even sure why because it was in the Entertainment Section and he usually avoided that at all costs, unless there's a celebrity death that the tabloids usually get all wrong. Just one particular name leaped at him and for the life of him he couldn't figure out why or where he knew that name from.

Celine Dion.

He closed his eyes and thought for a moment, then it hit him. John was a fan. A BIG fan. He never understood why. An overly dramatic Canadian? Nonetheless, John considered her music one of his guilty pleasures.

Suddenly an idea struck him so hard that he berated himself for not thinking of this before. Quickly he went on YouTube and pulled up a few of her songs and read the lyrics. One after the other, all syrupy and boring. But the last one he clicked on had him intrigued. After reading the lyrics he had to stop himself from literally jumping out of his chair. He quickly grabbed his phone again from the side table and text Mycroft.

I need 3 concert tickets. And a private meeting with the performer would be helpful as well. – SH

It's not for that Bieber fellow is it? God, I hate what he does to this country when he comes around. All those screaming nit-wits making enough noise to wake the dead. – MH

Don't be stupid. 3 tickets to Celine Dion. Front and Center would be useful. – SH

Consider it done. But why 3? Surely to don't plan to attend with them? – MH

It's a surprise. One that I know that John will never forget. – SH

Very well then. And 3 backstage passes as well? – MH

Just me. And I need more than just a backstage pass. I need to speak with her one-on-one at least 2 days before the show. – SH

Care to explain why? – MH

All in due time. In the meantime, I need a tuxedo for that night as well. Do be a good big brother and send your tailor over, whenever he's finished letting out your own trousers of course. – SH

Mycroft replied with a slur of his own but Sherlock paid no attention. He was going over a million scenarios in his head and coming up with a contingency plan for each one.

It had to be perfect. He was only going to get one shot at this, and it was either going to make him or break him.


	3. Dissension Among The Ranks

It took weeks of planning but Sherlock finally had everything to his liking. His new tuxedo hung unknown to John in his wardrobe, ready for his big night. Thanks to Mycroft, he had even met up with and spoken to Celine personally and told him what he had planned up his sleeve. Her answering smile was all he needed to confirm that she was willing to assist him in his grand scheme. That just left him with the most unbearable part of it all: the waiting.

Sherlock was NOT the most patient man. Everyone knew that. But he had at least a month to wait until that night, so he resigned himself to be as cheerful as possible (for him at least) until then. Which meant that he had to completely change his attitude around Mary. John never suspected a thing. He had just assumed that Sherlock had finally accepted the inevitable and was doing his best to come to terms with it by lending his knowledge in any way that Mary deemed useful.

Mary, of course, was too wrapped up in all her planning that she failed to question Sherlock on his motives and simply used him however she saw fit. Color schemes, seating charts, entrée choices, champagne choices, which flowers worked best with the month they had chosen…. her demands were endless. And as much as it irritated him to no end, Sherlock simply smiled and did her bidding. In fact, he had done more than that. Sherlock used his abilities to maneuver all of Mary's choices into ones that were all about John, and he let her think that it was still all her idea. In truth, he had helped planned the perfect wedding for JOHN, not Mary. He couldn't help that she was just too stupid to realize it.

John however saw how much Mary was taking advantage and decided that he needed to get her to dial it back a bit. It happened one particular day when John was at Baker Street. His mobile had gone off a few times but since he and Sherlock were on a case, he had simply ignored it. Whatever it was, he felt it could wait. Mary, however, thought otherwise. When he wouldn't answer his mobile, she then starting in on Sherlock, his mobile now going off like mad. Sherlock was used to tuning it out so it didn't bother him in the slightest. But seeing Mary blowing up Sherlock's mobile finally set him off.

He had grabbed his own mobile and walked in to the kitchen, dialing Mary's number as he did so. Sherlock looked through the corner of his eye, and knew from the set of John's shoulders that he was about to witness a domestic between the two of them. He fought his grin. Good. The more dissension between the two of them, the more chance his plan had to work.

Hearing the phone dialing, he realized that John had put on the speakerphone then set his phone done on the table while he set about making tea. Sherlock did his best to look occupied, but he was anxious to hear just what was about to happen.

 _(Mary) Hello?_

(John) Just what the hell do you think you are doing?

 _(Mary) I'm sorry?_

(John) What the hell is so important that you feel you have to make my mobile go mad?

 _(Mary) Well I didn't know if you were getting any of my messages so I tried calling._

(John) And did the fact not occur to you that I didn't answer because I was bloody busy?

 _(Mary) Well, yes. I figured that Sherlock had you running around like some errand boy like he usually does. When I couldn't get in touch with you, I tried his mobile too. Is he there with you?_

Sherlock just rolled his eyes with impatience. Where else did she expect him to be?

(John) Of course he's here. We're working on a case!

 _(Mary) Can you put him on then? I've a question for him._

John turned around and looked at Sherlock with a face that was so incredulous that it almost made Sherlock laugh out loud. But his humor quickly faded when he saw John's face slowly change from incredulous to furious.

(John) THE HELL I WILL! Mary I'm putting my foot down this time. I've dealt with your incessant questions and demands concerning this wedding. Even Sherlock has somehow found the graciousness to put up with it and help out when you asked him to. BUT THIS ENDS NOW! You want to babble on about the wedding? Fine. But from now on, when we're working on a case, you leave us the hell alone! Unless you're bleeding or dying, whatever your problem is it can wait until I get home. How would I explain to The Yard what we missed a vital clue in a case that allowed a murderer or thief to go free because my fiancée was more concerned on how the bloody napkins should be folded?!

Sherlock couldn't help but feel his jaw drop. Of course he'd seen John get aggressive and demanding when dealing with the criminal class, but he never would have expected to see him turn it on Mary. He felt a strange little patter in his chest watching John and realized that he _**liked**_ seeing John this way. He quickly stowed that away to the back of his mind to ponder over later. Alone. In his bedroom.

The silence quickly settled over the flat. John was still breathing heavy from his shouting and Mary had yet to respond, or if she had, he had completely missed it while being dazzled by John's display. It stretched on a few moments more before John walked back over to the table to check his mobile. Picking it up, he held it up for Sherlock to see.

"She hung up."

"Do you blame her John?"

John sighed and hung his head while plopping himself back into his chair. He had already turned the kettle off, no longer in the mood. "Yeah I suppose not." He began to rub his eyes. "Damn."

"Don't worry about it. Mary with forgive you. She always does. After all, she knows that she's got quite a catch in you and also knows she would be completely dicked-in-the-knob to let you get away."

John's face swung up to look at him as soon as the words had left his mouth, either not sure of what he just heard or if he was just misinterpreting it.

Sherlock clamped his mouth shut immediately. _**SHIT.**_ Where the hell did that come from? He decided to try and play it off casually.

"Just trying to be a help, and all that. You know that I'm not good with sentiment." he said, trying to keep his voice even.

John seemed to accept his explanation just sat back with a sigh. "I guess it would be a good idea to give Mary some space for the night. If I go home now, the neighbors will have something to talk about for weeks." Sherlock merely hummed in response. "Eh, Sherlock. Would you…mind…?" he started, nodding his head towards his old bedroom upstairs.

"Why bother asking John? As far as I'm concerned, that room will always be yours for as long as you need it." Sherlock replied quietly.

John stood up, feeling both relieved and ridiculous. He knew that he was always welcome on Baker Street. Sometimes he still had to remind himself that technically he didn't live here anymore, but in a townhouse a few miles west of Baker Street.

He walked over to Sherlock, placing his hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. Sherlock looked into his eyes and thought he saw a message that John was trying to convey to him, but he couldn't quite understand. Instead of asking about it, he simply nodded in acknowledgement.

John then turned around and started heading upstairs to his old room and quietly closed the door behind him. The flat returned to its usual state of silence. But the atmosphere was different.

 _John was here._ The way it should be.

And Sherlock was more determined than ever to risk it all to keep it that way.


	4. Battle of Wills

John lay in his old bedroom upstairs, with his arms crossed behind his head and just stared at the ceiling. He supposed that he had made a real mess of things with Mary, damn his temper. But what could he be expected to do? As much as he loved Mary, he couldn't allow her to keep harassing Sherlock for her own purposes. He tried to reason with himself that every woman gets this way with planning a wedding, but he had never expected Mary to take it this far. It was bad enough that she didn't seem to care for Sherlock at all, and only seemed to tolerate him for his sake. He'd recognized that immediately but had convinced himself that her being polite to Sherlock in his presence would satisfy him enough to ignore the enmity between the two of them.

But now he sees that he was only fooling himself. And he wasn't sure how long he could go on choosing sides in each of their battles.

He tossed around a bit, only made slightly more comfortable by the fact that he had stripped himself down to just his pants and his undershirt. His clothes were folded neatly on a chair on the other side of the room. No, there was no use. He wasn't getting much sleep tonight, simply because there was so much on his mind.

He tried to think back on when it had truly become apparent that he would have to start choosing between the two of them. He thought back to that day about 2 weeks ago, after him and Mary got into it about Sherlock being the best man.

Yeah he could understand Mary's point about asking Stamford. They had been mates far longer than him and Sherlock, going far back to their days at St. Bart's. And it was, in fact, Stamford that had introduced him to Sherlock in the first place. Be that as it may, him and Mike were still casual friends at best, going out for a pint on occasion.

Not like him and Sherlock.

Sherlock annoyed him to no end, but he also kept John thrilled with his deductions. After all this time, it still amazed him how Sherlock seemed to conjure the information he needed out of thin air, and he was spot on every time. His lack of social graces was embarrassing in most settings, but John couldn't help looking at him during those times and see him as completely adorable when he tried to cover up some faux pas that he committed. He knew, in truth, that he only did that for John's benefit. Sherlock couldn't give a flying fig about what others thought about him. But at times he was considerate enough to consider John's feelings, however irrational he had thought them to be.

And the fact that, genius that he claimed to be, he still had a look of complete shock when John asked him to be his best man. Just remembering the look on Sherlock's face when he had asked still had him chuckling to himself.

He had come back to Baker Street, and took a deep breath before climbing the stairs to the flat. He wasn't sure how this was going to go, given the fact that Sherlock had no concept of subtleties. Still, he would ask him. He was his best friend, after all.

He walked back in the flat and had found Sherlock at his laptop, typing away furiously. Did he find a case to work on? If so, why hadn't he let him know? No matter. He had other things on his mind.

He stood there for a minute, assuming that Sherlock would acknowledge him in some way. After about 5 minutes, he gave up on that. He cleared his throat loudly enough for Sherlock to hear.

Without looking up Sherlock asked, "Has your pressing business been attended to?"

John just blinked. "Yeah I suppose so. All except for one very important matter."

Still focusing on his screen Sherlock replied, "Far be it for me to interrupt."

"Actually it's something that I can't attend to without your help."

Sherlock swung his head up to look at John, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Whatever it is John, I assure you that you can definitely find someone more qualified."

"Not this time. You are the only one that can help me."

Sherlock sat back in his chair with a sigh. "Well I guess it was only a matter of time before people started to realize that I'm the only one around here who can actually get things done correctly."

John blinked. "Oi! I've been known to get things right a time or two!"

Sherlock smirked at him. "Even a broken clock is right twice a day."

John shook head and took another deep breath. He didn't come up here to banter with the sodding bastard. He came up here with a purpose and he wasn't leaving until his mission was accomplished.

He walked over to his chair and sat down, mentally trying to prepare his words. Sherlock just stared at him with a blank face, waiting.

"Oh come on John. It can't be that difficult. Just tell me what you need so that I can get back to my work. Time is of the essence you know."

"It's about the wedding."

Sherlock groaned loudly and pinched the bridge of that regal nose of his. "God, not you too."

"Sorry. But it needs to be done."

"Alright, get on with it."

"I need a best man."

"Gavin Lestrade? He's a man, and good at it."

John shook his head in laughter. "It's Greg. And he's not my best friend."

"Oh, Mike Stamford, I see."

"I had already had this out with Mary. He's great and all, but he's not my best friend either."

"Then who's left? You're not giving my much to go on here, John."

John just decided to wait and stare back at him, just to see how long it would take him. After a moment, he could see Sherlock's eyes slightly darting back in forth, a clear indication that he was reviewing any and all information that he had, looking for a solution to this riddle. The longer it took, the funnier it became.

After a full 5 minutes, he couldn't stand it any longer. He stood up from his chair and roared "IT'S YOU, YOU BLOODY GIT!"

Sherlock looked genuinely startled. The phrase 'deer in the headlights' came floating through John's mind and he couldn't help but double over in laughter, which only seemed to confuse Sherlock even more.

After a few moments, John managed to compose himself. Sherlock was still staring him. John doubted that he even blinked the entire time.

"That's getting a bit scary now."

Sherlock took a breath and tried to speak. "You…you mean…"

"Yes."

"That I'm your…"

"Yes."

"Best friend?" Sherlock's voice was barely above a whisper, clearly uncertain how to process this new information.

"Of course you are."

But Sherlock, in his maddening adorable way, actually tried to talk John out of it!

"Surely there are others better qualified for the title!"

"Best man or best friend?"

"Both!"

"Nope. Sorry Sherlock. It's you, guilty on both charges."

Sherlock then stood up slowly, took a step or two until he stood before John. He solemnly clasped his hands behind his back, then cleared his throat.

"John, I haven't the words to convey to you what I wish to say at this moment, so forgive me if I should stumble a bit." John stood up so that they were face to face. If this was going to be as serious as he thought it was going to be, he decided it was better to do it this way.

After a slight pause, Sherlock continued. "I don't have friends. Never have. They always seem to drag me down. I obviously have no social skills and trying to maintain a friendship without that knowledge was more work than I was ever willing to put into it." Seeing John smile in agreement encourages him to continue. "The point I'm trying to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious asshole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. So if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody's best friend."

"Sherlock, of course you're my best friend. We've survived so many things together and went through even more that no one but us would either understand or believe."

"I guess that I had incorrectly assumed that Mary would be taking over that function in your life."

"In some ways, yeah she probably will. But this?" he said, gesturing around the flat, "this is just us. No one else. And it will always be that way."

After letting that sink in for a moment or two, Sherlock graced John with a smile that was so brilliant that John had no choice but to grab him by his shoulders and pull him into a hug. Sherlock was caught completely off guard but recovered quickly enough to hug John in return.

The memory of that had John still smiling as he continued to stare up at the blank ceiling. Mary hadn't taken it so well when he finally told her that Sherlock had accepted the responsibility but she didn't have much choice. Since he had allowed her to arrange for the damn doves to be released, she can let him have his best friend as his best man, and she can keep her mouth shut about it.

He tossed and turned some more, never getting completely comfortable enough to doze off. He was just about to head downstairs when he faintly heard the faint notes of Sherlock tuning his violin. That had him stopping and just listening. It had been so long since he had heard Sherlock play, and it had always found it incredibly relaxing. So he just laid back, closed his eyes, and allowed the beautiful music to soothe his mind until he slipped away into a blissful sleep.

He never knew that as soon as John had turned to head upstairs, Sherlock had immediately started going through his mental catalogue of composures, choosing a few of the ones that John seemed to enjoy the most. He knew John wasn't going to be able to fall asleep very asleep, because John was the type to overthink and over rationalize things until it drove him mad. His row with Mary was certainly fuel for that fire.

John wouldn't want to talk about it, and he respected that. But this was something he could do for him. In a way, it was a gift. The only one he could give John.

For now. He let that thought swirl through his mind and he smiled to himself. Then he picked up his bow and began to play.


	5. Getting Ready

This was it! The big night was finally here, and Sherlock was more than ready to put his carefully made plans into motion. It was time he started getting ready.

He took out the tuxedo that Mycroft had procured for him and laid it carefully on the bed, along with all the trappings that went along with it. Once that was finished, he gathered his blue housecoat and made off for the bathroom. A shower, a shave, a few hair products. Truth be told, he's never used anything in his hair before except shampoo and he had stood in the shop for almost an hour before he finally made a decision on what to buy. No matter. Tonight was going to be HIS night, and he wasn't leaving anything to chance.

After seeing to all his needs, he left the bathroom in a great cloud of steam. With nothing but his housecoat wrapped around him, he made his way into the kitchen to make a quick cup of tea. Opening the cabinet, he saw his favorite cup sitting alongside the one that John always uses. Sherlock couldn't help the smile that came to his face. 'A fitting prophesy' he thought to himself.

While the kettle was well on its way to a full boil, he returned to the bathroom to blunder his way through all the mysterious products he had bought for himself. He had accidently sprayed himself in the face more than once, and the oaths that he swore wasn't exactly pleasant ones. The gelatinous substance had promised him "to give superior hold and moisture to all hair types." And yet after using it, Sherlock decided that he looked more like an unfortunate animal caught in oil spill. Perhaps he had used to much? He assumed that since his hair was longer that most men's styles, and had curls to boot, that he would need more that most men would need. A handful seemed enough. Alas, he had been wrong.

And Sherlock Holmes hates being wrong.

With a loud grumble he quickly jumped into the shower again and washed away the offending substance. While he was in there, however, he had come up with a rather long list of experiments that the gel could be useful for. He may as well get his money's worth, right?

Toweling off once again, he heard footsteps in the flat and he immediately froze. Who the hell could that be? Quickly he threw on his housecoat and stepped out holding a blow dryer like a pistol, ready to bean someone over the head with it if necessary.

Instead, he turned around the corner to the kitchen and saw Mrs. Hudson wrapping a small towel around her hand so that she could take the now screaming kettle off the stove. Hearing footsteps behind her, she didn't even bother to turn around but immediately started chastising.

"Honestly, Sherlock, if you're going to put the kettle on make sure that you mind the bloody thing! It's had been screaming for ages and it was interrupting my program on the telly. I had to come make sure that you weren't trying to burn the place down. And to see if you were all right, dear."

Having put the kettle on a cool back burner, the high-pitched whistling slowly began to calm down until it was silently belching steam into the air. That being settled, Mrs. Hudson turned around…and promptly dissolved herself into a massive giggling fit.

"Look at you! I don't think I've ever seen you looking so unkempt in my life!" she exclaimed. She walked over to him and lightly patted him on the cheek. Sherlock only blinked at her, not knowing what to say in his defense. He decided to just keep his mouth shut.

Once up close, she could see tiny remnants of bubbles still clinging to his damp curls and smell the gallons of aftershave that he apparently bathed in. She simply tsk'd her tongue as only a mother could.

"Well, at least it's a work in progress dearie. I'll get out of your way so that you can finish up." Shaking her head and unsuccessfully stifling another giggle, she made her way back downstairs.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes and headed back to the bathroom.

About an hour later he was satisfied with his appearance enough to head to his bedroom and start getting dressed.

As he did so, he once again allowed all sorts of scenarios run through his mind. John's possible reactions, which spread across the entire spectrum from shock and disbelief, to warm and accepting, and even cold and dismissive. He wanted to make sure he was prepared for ANYTHING. He had also starting thinking about how Mary would react as well, seeing as how she would be there to witness the entire thing. Sherlock hadn't particularly wanted her there but concluded that it would be easier to allow her to tag along. Besides, having Mary there would most likely distract John so that he couldn't tell that Sherlock was up to something. The stupid bitch still assumed that he had planned this evening for her and John, and Sherlock was more than willing to let her keep thinking that. She would find out the truth, soon enough. Sherlock couldn't wait.

He was just finishing up tying his silk bowtie when a message chimed on his mobile, still sitting in the living room. He left the bedroom, his eyes searched the room looking for it and in the process he once again noted the empty spot under the window where his violin case always sat. In normal circumstances, it's absence would cause Sherlock immediate alarm. However, he knew exactly where it was, waiting to be used as an extremely important prop in his plan. Glancing over, he spied his mobile next to his laptop. He walked calmly over to it and picked it up, seeing the notification 'One Message: John Watson'. He clicked the home screen open, then read the message.

The cab just picked us up and we are on our way. Should be on Baker Street within 20 minutes. – JW

Sherlock just grinned. It was almost Showtime.


	6. Revelations

The ride to Royal Albert Hall was taking longer than expected. It was technically only 20 minutes away, but the waves of traffic all fighting to get to the same place made the streets hell to maneuver through. Sherlock blew out of huff of frustration. John and Mary seemed content to just sit back and wait patiently, although John had continued to gush his thanks for this evening. Mary only nodded in agreement but said nothing. The cabbie, for his part, just sat there and watched the meter charges steadily climb.

His mind was awhirl with what was going to happen tonight. Out of the corner of his eyes, he couldn't help to appreciate seeing John in his tuxedo. Instead of the standard black, John was in a tuxedo that was a dark midnight blue that seemed to shine under the streetlights as they passed. The lapels were cut in a slightly lighter blue satin, with the bowtie and peeking handkerchief matching exactly. The cut was exquisite, hugging John's broad shoulders lovingly. He couldn't help the thought flittering across his mind that he couldn't wait to get out of this bloody cab because if he looked this good right now, he could only _**imagine**_ how that tuxedo sculpted itself around his bum, no doubt made firm by all the running they did. He quickly shook that thought out of his head. He had other things, more important things, to focus on at the moment. If everything went well, he could revisit this line of thinking later on when he would have both the time and permission to explore it further. A small shiver ran down his spine in anticipation, until Sherlock forced himself to FOCUS!

Once they were within a few blocks, Sherlock decided to just jump out the cab and walk the rest of the way. John and Mary just stared at him in surprise. After the shock wore off, they both made to scoot out of the cab after Sherlock, but he put a hand up to stop them.

"No, you stay here. I'm just going to make sure things are in order. Our seats, and all that." he said, hoping he sounded convincing enough. He took out his billfold and handed the cabbie a handful.

John, knowing Sherlock the way he did, didn't believe him for one second. But before he could say anything about it, Mary just curled her arm around John's and pulled him back deeper into the cab. Sherlock forced a smile at the couple, when every instinct inside of him wanted to rip her hands off of John and throw her in front of a bus.

But he knew, as John would say, that was a 'bit not good.'

Slamming the cab door shut he spun around and headed towards the concert hall. He waited until he was out of sight of the cab before pulling his mobile out of his pocket. He was surprised to see a text waiting for him.

Is everything ready to your satisfaction, dear brother? – MH

Sherlock rolled his eyes. But Mycroft had helped him so he decided to humor him.

I'm about to get my final conformations on the matter. – SH

After a moment, he decided to bait him a bit for sport.

Are you sure you don't want to attend? I hear that some of the greatest bakers in London are showing off their prowess in the kitchen for the after party. And I know how much you adore cake. – SH

The response was almost immediate, and he could almost hear the condescending tone in the message.

I shan't be able to attend, but not to worry. I have access to all the CCTV feeds surrounding the area. My absence will not cause me to miss your triumph…. or your failure. – MH

Sherlock gritted his teeth and almost smashed his phone with his bare hands. Only his brother could rile him up with only a few words. No matter. He would deal with the insufferable bastard later. He pocketed his mobile once again, and headed forward.

…

John and Mary had finally made their way inside the great hall. Crowds of people, all dressed in their finest, milled around and caused a low buzzing with their conversations. They had worried at first that they weren't going to be able to find their seats, until they had asked an usher for help. They followed behind him in shock when they learned that they actually had a private box reserved just for them. Mary just squealed in delight when she finally took her seat behind the heavy curtains that blocked the entrance to their box. John just kept looking around, still not sure they were in the right place. It took some convincing but Mary finally coaxed him to just relax and enjoy the evening.

Determined to do so, he relaxed in the deep seats that were almost too comfortable to be believable. He only half listened to Mary's commentary as she continually pointed out the different gowns that other women were wearing. He assumed that he had been nodding in all the right places because Mary just kept prattling on and on. But then a sudden thought came to him.

"Where's Sherlock?"

Mary only half-glanced at him. "Oh I'm sure he's somewhere dear." she remarked. "Knowing him, he's probably in an alley somewhere behind the hall trying to chase a thief or something."

The thought struck John harder than it should have. He immediate reached for his mobile. Unlocking the home screen, he started to send Sherlock a message. That is, until Mary snatched it from his hands.

"Oi! What did you do that for?"

"Because you can't just enjoy one night with me without worrying about that overgrown child."

John stiffened then started to bristled at Mary. "You know; I'm getting tired of all your remarks towards Sherlock. We're here tonight because of him. I assumed that you would feel grateful for his thoughtfulness. What is your problem with him anyway?"

Mary turned to face John fully. "Since you really want to know, I'm getting tired of him keeping you out late constantly and making you do dangerous things just to satisfy his need to be reckless." She patted his hand the way a mother would pat a child. "You should be home with me."

John stood up then and scowled at Mary. "I enjoy our time together Mary, but you knew this is what I did when we started seeing each other." he pointed out.

"Yes. But I assumed it was because he didn't have anything better to do with your free time. Boys being boys, and all that. I naturally assumed that it would all stop when we decided to get married."

"I never said that!" John protested.

"True. I guess that it's my fault then for not being clear in my expectations."

"So you're saying," John asked incredulously, "that you expect me to just STOP everything, just because we're getting married?"

"I didn't want to come out and say that outright, but since you did…" Mary replied, letting the implications speak for themselves.

John felt the heat slowly consume him and felt his face flush in his anger. How dare she? He loved her, yes. But he _never_ agreed to stop seeing Sherlock. And he knew that he never would, for her or anyone else. He was his best friend, after all. At times it felt like it was more than that but he had always brushed that thought aside and blamed it on exhaustion from a case, or whatever else was convenient at the time to blame it on.

Just as he was about to make that point known VERY LOUDLY, the lights in the hall dimmed, signaling that the concert was about to start. Mary, seemingly unaware of the fuse she just lit, tried shushing John and tried pulling him back to his seat. John firmly refused and turned towards the heavy curtains.

"Where do you think you are going?" Mary harshly whispered.

"To find Sherlock." He ground out in reply.

Before she could say anything in protest, another usher quietly pushed his way through the curtains into the box.

"Dr. Watson?" he asked.

John just blinked in surprise. "Yes. Can I help you?" His first thought was that Sherlock was in trouble somewhere and this man was sent to fetch him. He held his breath until the man simply handed him an envelope.

"I was told to bring this to you."

John took the envelope in confusion and simply stared at it for a moment. His manners automatically took over before he could do anything else.

"Erm, thank you." he replied before looking up. When he finally did, the man was gone.

He turned to look at Mary who also had a puzzled look in her face. "John, what is it? What's wrong?" she asked.

"I'm not sure." he murmured. He quickly tore the envelope open and removed a small note care nestled inside. It took his eyes a moment to focus in the now dim lighting. Once they did, he could easily read the short message written there, and a meticulous handwriting that John would recognize anywhere.

Sherlock's handwriting.

 _Stop worrying about my absence John. As always you are predictable. My attention is being used rather creatively at the moment to further progress this evening. Just sit down and enjoy the show. My presence will be made soon enough. Sherlock_

"Everything all right?" Mary asked again.

John barely looked at her as he stuffed the card back in the envelope and then put the envelope in his inner jacket pocket. "Yeah, everything is fine. Just Sherlock. He said he'll be here soon enough."

Mary just smiled, letting John know instantly that she didn't really care where Sherlock was or what he was up to. He absentmindedly sat down and allowed Mary to wrap her arm around his. She seemed totally oblivious to the thought swirling in John's mind. She was only interested in the concert, and now that John was sitting beside her again, all was right again in her tiny little world.

John glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, completely baffled by her selfish behavior. How had he not seen it sooner? They say love is blind. He now realized how true that was.

As the music began, he kept himself occupied with his own thoughts. Could he really spend his life with someone who didn't give a thought to others? He thought back through all her wedding planning and realized that this facet of her personality had always been there, he had just been too blind to see it.

He needed someone who understood his need to run through the streets with his adrenaline pumping. Not only because he enjoyed the thrill of the chase but because it made him feel useful. His time at the clinic helped that feeling also but it was nowhere the same as catching the scum of London and making it safer. Being sent home from the military had almost broken him, until he was introduced to Sherlock and they started working on cases together. Why couldn't she just accept him the way he was and not try to make him what she thought he should be? Why couldn't she be more like Sher-…..?

That thought halted all thoughts in his head. He began to look around to see if he could find Sherlock in the massive crowd. He wanted to speak to him NOW.

Mary, in all her selfish cluelessness, had no idea of the revelation in John's head.


	7. The Curtain Rises

The lights were low and the buzzing of the crowd had all but stopped completely. From the orchestra pit a few faints sounds sailed over the crowd, signaling their readiness. Everyone was unconsciously leaning forward, waiting anxiously for the show to begin.

Suddenly, everything went pitch black.

A few startled murmurs from the crowd had John wondering if this was planned or not. He appreciated the theatrics but his past experience had taught him to never accept anything at face value. What others could have deemed perfectly normal or even exciting, John was doing his best NOT to imagine the worst case scenario.

He held his breath and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He was just about to jump up again to see what the hell was going on when a low rumbling came from the stage. It was so low that John had actually felt it before he heard it. Slowly the sound became louder, more clear. An ambient light appeared from both sides of the stage, only causing the minimal illumination among the delicate wisps of smoke that could now be seen curling around the stage floor. The light started out a delicate lilac color, but as the intro began to swell with more instruments joining in, it seemed to change to every hue imaginable. Gasps of wonderment could be heard from the audience as they became thoroughly enraptured in the scene before them.

John relaxed a little. It was all part of the show.

Suddenly there was a loud fanfare followed immediately by lights going completely crazy, lighting up every corner of the hall like it was Guy Fawkes Night. The crowd went crazy at the impressive display. John couldn't help the smile that split his features. This was going to be incredible.

Little did he know….

….

Sherlock waited patiently in the wings backstage. He had watched all the preparations to start the show with a bored eye, at best. Knowing how all the special effects worked was easy enough to work out before he actually saw each feat accomplished. Still he watched, and registered a few things to keep in his Mind Palace. You never know when certain things could be useful.

From his spot backstage he could see John and Mary in their box across the hall. He watched in wonderment at the facial expressions that John was making, clearing enjoying the spectacle before him.

He hoped that before the night was over, he would succeed in getting John to look at him the same way.

Sherlock picked up his violin, satisfied that it was tuned correctly. He absently plucked a string or two, impatiently waiting his cue.

…

When Celine Dion had finally made her grand entrance, the crowd went mad. The sound was almost deafening. John had momentarily joined them on their feet, applauding. Mary just shook her head, no doubt criticizing him in her head once again. John no longer cared. He had every intention of enjoying himself tonight. He could deal with her later. And he had every intention in doing so.

"HELLO LONDON!"

The crowd cheered their response, growing even louder.

After addressing the crowd for a few more minutes the music swelled once again and she launched into her first song of the night: The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face.

John listened to her voice caressing the lyrics. He knew them all by heart, but suddenly he heard them with an entirely new meaning.

 _ **: The first time ever I saw your face**_

 _ **I thought the sun rose in your eyes**_

 _ **And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave**_

 _ **To the dark and the empty skies:**_

John felt his throat go dry. He tried to convince himself that feeling the music surround him so beautifully was causing him to react this way. Live music always had a way of affecting people. After a few more songs that were more upbeat, he had convinced himself that had to be what it was.

But then, she began another song and within a few notes John had instantly recognized it as Declaration of Love. Once again, the lyrics hit him harder than expected.

 _ **: You are my knight in armor**_

 _ **The hero of my heart**_

 _ **When you smile at me I see**_

 _ **A true world goes up**_

 _ **The river is getting deep, believe it**_

 _ **You're all these arms of mine want to hold**_

 _ **All wrapped up with a river**_

 _ **Baby, I'm giving you this heart of gold**_

 _ **So listen up, it's you I trust**_

 _ **I feel magic every time that we touch**_

 _ **I pledge allegiance to the heavens above**_

 _ **Tonight to you baby I make my declaration of love:**_

John glanced at Mary who was looking at him with full smile. Apparently she had seen John's reactions and assumed (incorrectly) that his reaction was based on her. She squeezed his hand tightly, but John was still lost in his own thoughts for him to even notice.

His mind raced around Sherlock and the loud music temporarily faded into the background. He thought of all the things they had done together. Racing around London. Visiting Molly at Saint Bart's. Helping Lestrade at crime scenes. Laughing at the snide remarks that Sherlock made towards Anderson or Donovan. All the reasons that John considered Sherlock his best friend.

But then his mind switched tactics all together. It started showing him scenes from their quieter life together. Eating at Angelo's. Watching crap telly. Playing Cleudo. Or simply sitting together in silence before the fireplace, reading the papers and drinking a cup of tea. There was no one he'd rather be with. No one he'd rather argue with. Because even though Sherlock didn't realize it, he'd given John what he wanted most: a home and someone to come home to. Yes, he had found Mary, and even felt that he loved her enough to ask her to marry him. But there had been too many times when he unconsciously compared the two of them. While she had been content to stay around the house, reading her novels and playing with that damn cat (who never liked him, by the way…he had a scar to prove it.), Sherlock was always trying to find a way to challenge himself, to better himself. Annoying as it sometimes was, John had to admire him for that. In fact, he always had. He just never admitted it.

Where Mary was compliant, Sherlock was challenging. Mary was content to believe whatever was spouted towards her; Sherlock questioned everything. In fact, it had taught him to do the same. And in doing so, it helped build John's confidence. Confidence that he was afraid that he permanently lost when he returned from Afghanistan.

Sherlock had given that all back to him, and so much more.

Suddenly he was VERY antsy to see Sherlock. He didn't care where he was or what he was doing. He felt like he had to say what was on his mind before he lost the nerve to do so.

He stood up so suddenly that he had forgotten that Mary had looped her arm around his and had almost flung her from her chair. She yelped in surprise.

John saw to it that she was settled in her chair again then turned to walk out of the box. Before Mary could say anything he simply said, "Need the loo."

Mary seemed satisfied with his reason for leaving so she turned her attention back to the show.

Just as John walked through the heavy curtains, he was surrounded on each side by the same two ushers he had spoken with before.

"Just looking for the loo guys. Kindly point it out, yeah?" he asked.

"Actually Dr. Watson, you are needed elsewhere." the tallest of the two said.

John's guard immediately went up. "Something wrong? Is someone hurt?" he asked quickly.

The usher just smiled. "Not at all sir. We were just told that there is a special spot reserved for you after the intermission."

Sure enough, he was brought back into the present enough to hear that the band and orchestra were playing a catchy melody but Celine wasn't singing.

"All right then. I'll just get my fiancé?"

"My apologies sir." This time it was the shorter one that spoke. "We were told that it was reserved for you only."

One again, John's defenses went up. Something didn't sound right. This night was supposed to be for the three of them. And although Sherlock was off God knows where, he felt the rest of the night would be for both Mary and himself. He began to think of all the people who may have a vendetta against him and Sherlock. Perhaps they had chosen tonight to catch him off guard so that they could….

Loud chuckling brought him once again crashing into the present. He saw one usher nudge the other.

"Look, just like he said! I can't believe how right he was."

John blinked. "Pardon? Who said what now?"

"Mr. Holmes. He's the one that told us to come and fetch you. He also said that instead of just coming along that you would…. how did he put it? 'Overthink it until we saw steam come out of your funny little head.' And blimey he was right!"

John closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh while pinching the bridge of his nose. Yeah. He really needed to see Sherlock soon so that he could slap the prat around. Slowly, he accepted the fact that Sherlock always gets what he wants one way or another.

Squaring his shoulders, he gestured with his hands.

"Lead the way boys."


	8. Shock and Awe

John was lead through a confusing mix of hallways and corridors. The two ushers who led him kept glancing over their shoulders, as if the make sure he was still following him. John sighed to himself, wondering just what the hell Sherlock was up to.

After what seemed like forever, John finally found himself backstage among countless people running to and fro: adjusting lights, monitoring the sound checks, and wheeling in rack of clothes for Celine's several wardrobe changes. For a few moments he forgot that he was looking for Sherlock, instead trying to stretch his neck around several obstacles hoping for a glimpse of the performer. He knew it made him look a groupie, but honestly, how many chances like this are people likely to get?

A quick flash of light caught his attention, and John couldn't breathe. There she was! He was amazed to see that she wasn't as tall as he thought but that didn't diminish his amazement of her in any way. Her hair was elegantly swept back, pinned with a few strategically placed feathers. He also noticed that the gown that she had changed into seemed to hug her form perfectly, a rich jade green that seemed to only enhance her dazzling smile. Her smile...John blinked stupidly.

She was looking right at him….and she was smiling.

At _**HIM!**_

Before he could form another coherent thought in his head, she began to walk towards him…. _oh god_ ….and stretched out her arm to place her hand lightly on his right shoulder.

"You must be Dr. Watson?" she asked, her accent dripping delicately over her words.

John just made a strangled noise… _what the hell was wrong with me..._ because that was all his mind was able to do. She laughed lightly, clearly used to this sort of reaction and not willing to embarrass him any further. "Are you enjoying the show?"

John nodded enthusiastically, finally finding his voice again. Somewhat. "It's an honor." He croaked.

She laughed again. "Well I'm certainly glad that you are. Your friend certainly went through a lot of trouble to make sure of it."

"Friend?" John asked in confusion, before his mind finally returned to normal. "Oh Sherlock! Yes, yes he did and I don't think I'll be able to ever thank him enough."

"I'm sure you'll manage." she replied, with a smile that left John wondering. "Well then, I think it's time for me to get back out there then. That's a lot of people to disappoint if I don't."

"Oh yes! Please! Go right ahead!" John gesturing her forward. "I'll just wait…." he looked around for a moment, "here then, if that's all right."

Celine huffed, clearly faking it. "Absolutely not! We have a special place for you tonight."

John's eyes grew as big as saucers. " _ **WE?**_ " he squeaked.

"Of course!" She playfully smoothed her hands down his shoulders. "Wouldn't want this fabulous tuxedo to go to waste, would we?"

John just stared at her.

She grabbed him by the hand and tugged gently. "Well come on!"

John, still in a state of complete shock, allowed himself to be led away. A few steps had him realizing where she was leading him.

Right onto center stage. _**What the hell….?**_

The lights shining on the stage momentarily blinded him but the deafening roar of applause was unmistakable.

"Are we still having a good time?" she asked, her voice booming over the system and drawing the crowd into a frenzy once again. Once his eyes finally adjusted to the light he could start to make out the shapes of people in the first few rows. Beyond that it was still impossible. He happened to glance up to the box that he was recently occupying and couldn't help but laugh at Mary standing there, her jaw wide open in complete shock. He just shrugged her shoulders at her as if to say 'I'm just as surprised as you are'.

He turned back to Celine and watched as she had slightly raised her left and was lowering it slowly. He realized in amazement that the crowd was taking their cue from her and had started to calm down, and was eventually sufficiently quiet enough for her to continue.

"I would like to introduce someone very special to you." She took a step away and gestured towards John with a flourish. "Doctor John Watson!"

John felt his face flame with embarrassment and managed a weak little wave. The good-natured laughter from the crowd seemed to relax him a little.

"I bet you are wondering what on earth you are doing here John."

John arched an eyebrow at her. "You think?" The crowd laughed again.

Celine just smiled. "If I understand correctly, you became engaged recently." John nodded in the affirmative. She addressed the crowd again. "What do you think guys? Are congratulations in order?"

The crowd applauded again. Once the noise subsided, she continued.

"From what I hear, whoever managed to snag your heart must be a very lucky person." A collective ' _aww'_ floated from the audience. "BUT! What I want to know is…. what about the heart you have stolen for _yourself_?"

John just stared, unable to move.

"Would you guys like to meet this person for yourselves?" Cheers answered her question. "Alas, this person is apparently too shy to say such things for themselves."

John furrowed his brow. When has Mary ever been to shy about anything?

"Fortunately, being the helpless romantic that I am, I have offered my help with the situation." She reached over and guided John to a spot just left of center stage. "I think it's time we brought them out, yes?" More applause. "Then by all means, let's do this!"

As John stood there the lights around him began to dim, leaving only two bright spotlights focused on the stage. John himself was standing in one of them, and he assumed the Celine would be standing in the other.

He assumed wrong.

He looked over and his breath viciously left his lungs when he saw Sherlock standing there, looking simply divine in his tuxedo, his curls shining in the light. He smiled at John, his eyes crinkling in amusement as he saw the astonishment on his face.

John had to physically fight the urge to collapse where he stood. He hadn't even noticed what Sherlock was holding in his hand until he brought it up and placed it gracefully under his chin.

His violin.

Celine, for her part, had taken a position between them although she was slightly further back on the stage then the two of them. She knew well the courage it took to get onstage in front of thousands of people. But to do it so you can completely bare your soul? There was no way she was going to take the spotlight from Sherlock. She was content to let him do this his way.

Sherlock drew his bow and began to play a mid-tempo tune, the rest of the band and orchestra automatically joining in at the appropriate times. John felt the music wash over him, causing gooseflesh to rise over his entire body. He _**knew**_ this song. His heart started threatening to leap out of his chest when Celine's voice started caressing the lyrics.

 **: Take me**

 **Back into the arms I love**

 **Need me**

 **Like you did before**

 **Touch me once again**

 **And remember when**

 **There was no one that you wanted more:**

John felt his throat tighten and his chest constrict even more. He was completely rooted to the spot.

 **: Don't go**

 **You know you'll break my heart**

 **She won't**

 **Love you like I will**

 **I'm the one who'll stay**

 **When she walks away**

 **And you know I'll be standing here still:**

He stared at Sherlock. His mind screamed at him to run to him, but his feet simply refused to move.

 **: I'll be waiting for you**

 **Here inside my heart**

 **I'm the one**

 **Who wants to love you more**

 **You will see I can give you**

 **Everything you need**

 **Let me be the one to love you more:**

Sherlock knew that he could play his part in the song without even thinking about it, so he put his body on auto pilot and allowed his hands to go through the motions he knew so well. With his mind, he carefully studied John's reactions.

Shock? Expected. Disbelief? Amusing. Clenching his fists? Predictable.

He just hoped that John was getting the message he was trying so hard to convey.

John stayed frozen in place as he stared at Sherlock so hard that his vision began to blur. It was then he realized that if he blinked, his vision would momentarily clear. He did so, the culprits clouding his vision running unchecked down his face. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, allowing more lyrics to wind their way around him.

 **: I'll be waiting for you**

 **Here inside my heart**

 **I'm the one who wants to love you more**

 **You will see I can give you**

 **Everything you need**

 **Let me be the one to love you more:**

His eyes snapped open once again, full realization blooming all over. He knew he loved Sherlock.

And Sherlock _loved him back!_

It was almost too good to be true. Here he was, less than an hour ago, having every intention of telling Sherlock his feelings about him, and Sherlock beat him to it.

The music swelled around him once again, and he stood mesmerized watching Sherlock passionately playing, his graceful fingers dancing over the strings. But his eyes never left John's.

Sherlock knew the second that John realized everything, and it was the perfect moment he had been waiting for. Without breaking eye contact, he held out his violin to a stagehand behind him, who had been waiting there for his cue.

Gracefully, and with a purpose, he walked over to John.

Seeing Sherlock walk towards him gave his body the push it needed to put itself into motion. On shaky legs, he met Sherlock halfway. They stood center stage, being watched by thousands of people, yet it felt like they were alone in the world. He didn't even notice that the spotlights that were centered around them followed their every movement.

Finally, _finally_ , he stood toe-to-toe with Sherlock and lost himself in his gaze. Those quicksilver eyes seemed to dance into him, a look so unfamiliar on his face that John would have never thought it possible by someone who always kept himself so distant from others. John kept his hands fisted at his sides, keeping himself calm with barely-controlled emotion.

His pupils blew wide open as he saw Sherlock slowly raise his right hand and placed it softly on his cheek, those strong and nimble fingers cupping his jaw so tenderly as if he was made of glass. He couldn't stop his eyes from fluttering closed as he felt the heat from Sherlock's hand slowly bleed into his skin. The emotional turmoil of his mind slowly warped Celine's voice and changed it all together. He heard the next lyrics in Sherlock's seductive baritone.

 **: Believe in me**

 **I will make you see**

 **All the things that your heart needs to know:**

Sherlock couldn't help but smile to himself as he saw the raw emotion written all over John's face. The lights that glowed around them danced over the wet streaks that still left their mark on his face. Sherlock used his right hand to gently wipe them away, but his actions only caused them to be replaced more quickly than their predecessors. A gentle sting began to become noticeable behind his own eyes. Ordinarily he dismissed sentiment out of hand, no questions asked. But here, now, he was laying all his cards out on the table.

And silently prayed that he won the biggest gamble of his life.

The music was climaxing around them as Celine continued to vocalize, her voice strong and steady, a definite contrast to the delicate scene before her. Studying John for a moment more, he decided it was now or never.

Using the hand already on John's strong jawline, he used the tips of his fingers that had found their way towards the nape of his soldier's neck and pulled John closer.

John didn't need any further urging than that. He gently raised himself on his toes, gripping Sherlock's bicep for balance and claimed his lips with his own.

Electricity exploded between them. John wasn't sure what he expected but it this was so much more than he could have ever imagined. Sherlock's lips were deceptively soft, yielding to John's exploration yet demanding their own. He tasted of tea and spring rain. Becoming bolder, he gently nibbled Sherlock's bottom lip. Sherlock's gasp of surprise left enough of an opportunity for John to plunder his mouth in its entirety.

Sherlock felt himself get lightheaded as soon as John's lips touched his. He had what he truly craved and he let John take from him whatever he wanted in return. He'd give it all, unequivocally. The gentle bite of John's teeth took him by surprise and the next thing he knew John had completely taken over all his senses, filling each one to the brim so quickly that he didn't have time to analyze them as he usually does.

Sherlock just let go, and _felt_ everything.

They clung desperately to each other for what seemed like eternity. Suddenly the haze around them was broken, causing John to slip back firmly on his feet once again but continuing to clutch Sherlock's bicep as if it were a lifeline. Both were panting lightly, overwhelmed by what they just shared. A noise slowly broke through John's tunnel vision of Sherlock, becoming louder and louder. He suddenly gulped in as much air as possible as soon as recognition set in.

Thunderous applause.

The wave of mortification that washed over him would have brought him to knees, except for the first hold that Sherlock kept on him. The smile that Sherlock gave him was dazzling.

"You…. you had this planned all along?" he managed to strangle out of his half-paralyzed vocal cords.

"Doing so increases the chances of success, don't you think?" Sherlock answered smugly.

John felt a smile split his face. "I ought to slap you, you insufferable git."

"Do contain yourself until we return to Baker Street. Once there, you can do to me whatever you see fit." Sherlock replied, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"You're on." John agreed.

They turned simultaneously and looked at Celine, who was standing there trying her best not to wipe her eyes and ruin her carefully applied make-up. The happiness clearly displayed on her face matched their own.

They joined hands and faced the audience once again, both of them smiling from within their souls. With a gentle tug, John guided Sherlock back to where he had been led from offstage. As soon as they were out of sight from the thousand or so watchful eyes, he roughly grabbed Sherlock by his lapels and pushed him again a wall, claiming his mouth once again. The noise that came from Sherlock was enough overwhelm his senses to the point of pain.

Abruptly, John pulled away and stared at Sherlock, the questions written all over his face. "When? I mean…you never said anything when you were helping…." Suddenly his face froze. "Oh my god! MARY!" he exclaimed. He closed his eyes and groaned aloud. He had wanted to talk to her, explain to her his change of heart but I guess there wasn't any point anymore.

Sherlock, for his part, nonchalantly waved away his concern. "Already taken care of. As we speak, she's already on her way back to her own flat, but apparently not before making a complete spectacle of herself, shrieking like a harpy." The smirk on his face couldn't be helped. "Courtesy of Mycroft."

"Wha..?" John stuttered out. He realized then the enormity of Sherlock's planning in setting all of the up. He had to trust his brother, possibly tell him things he wasn't comfortable doing so. Before he could put together a coherent response, he felt his mobile buzzing in his pocket. Without breaking his gaze, Sherlock dug into John's jacket pocket, opened the home screen and held it up for John to read.

Congratulations Doctor Watson. You have accomplished the impossible. Treasure the gift you have been given. – MH

John read the message several times before it finally sank in. He looked into Sherlock's eyes once again and reclaimed his mouth with his own, feeling Sherlock's smile mirroring his own.

He had every intention of doing just that.


End file.
